"And if I did mean her, sir, what is that to you? By what right do you dare to——"
Suddenly his upraised hand fell. Both men stood as though turned to stone, listening, yet scarcely daring to glance toward the door. It was the sound of Morton's quiet voice and the trailing of skirts which had checked Mr. Brown's passionate speech.
"Lady and Miss Thurwell!"
There was no time to move, scarcely time for thought. Morton stood respectfully at the door, and the two ladies were already on the threshold.
"My dear Sir Allan"—in Lady Thurwell's silvery voice—"what will you think of such a late visit? I felt ashamed to ask for you, only we have been at the Countess of Applecorn's in the next square, and I could positively not pass your door when I remembered that it was your afternoon. But you are all in darkness; and you have a visitor, haven't you?"
The figures of the two men were barely visible in the deep gloom of the apartment, for the lamp had burned low, and gave little light. Lady Thurwell had stopped just inside the room, surprised.
If only Sir Allan's companion had been a patient! What a delightful piece of scandal it would have been!
"Lady Thurwell! Ah, how good of you!" exclaimed Sir Allan, coming forward out of the shadow; "and you, too, Miss Helen. I am honored indeed. Morton, lights at once!"
"We must not stay a moment," declared Lady Thurwell, shaking hands. "No, we won't sit down, thanks! You know why we've called? It's about the opera to-night. You got my note?"
"I did, Lady Thurwell, and I can trustfully say that I never read one from you with more regret."